Page 55 of Love, Academically
“Okay.”
It didn’t take long to give the new dress a home in her sewing room, opening the bag to let the skirt hang nicely, just how Miquita had shown her. Before long, they were sat at thebreakfast bar in her little kitchen picking at a small helping of beans on toast, because Rhys had eaten about ten thousand tiny sandwiches in the shop and she’d had two cakes. And a milkshake.
“So, Elin is the power in the marriage then?” Lila said, wishing she had a notebook. It would be a bit weird, though, if she sat there taking notes on his family as he blurted it all out. Because that’s what he was doing, blurting and trying to get it over with as quickly as possible.
“Yes. James is…” he searched for the right word. “He’s not as ambitious as Elin, which is a good thing. I think he’d be quite happy not to work, but my father wouldn’t allow that.”
Oh.
“Dad isn’t happy with my life choices,” Rhys started.
This, she knew.
“It’s difficult for me to be in a room with him,” he said, stabbing at some stray beans on his plate. “He’s narcissistic, manipulative, scheming.”
Rhys shrugged and a rueful smile tugged at his lips.
“I know I can be,” he hesitated, “difficult sometimes and I’ve had to spend time learning social niceties. But, as you know, I don’t always get it right.”
Well, that was a lovely bout of self-awareness from Rhys, and for that she gifted him a little smile.
“But I really try. That’s the thing with my father, he doesn’t try. I could forgive him if he learned from his mistakes, learned how to deal with me, Elin, my mother. But he doesn’t. To him, we’re commodities.”
“Oh, Rhys,” she said, feeling a sudden tightness to her throat.
Rhys stared over her shoulder, as if it were easier to talk about this without looking directly at her.
“I’m allowed this ‘sabbatical’ as my father calls it, because he’sso sure I’ll fail and be back in the family business, ready to take over from him when he dies.”
“Is that what he’s said?” Horrified wasn’t the word. Why would you force your child to do something they hated?
Lila schooled her face, because there was nothing worse than pity. But Rhys wasn’t looking at her.
“Oh yeah, it’s fully expected. But Elin would be much more suitable. Or my cousin Madoc.”
“The one who married your ex, Seren?”
“No, that was Ieuan,” he mumbled, stabbing stray beans. Definitely should have a notebook. “Dad liked Seren. ‘She’ll always look good on your arm, son.’” Rhys snorted. “As if I care about that.”
Lila raised one eyebrow at him. He’d just bought her a God-knows-how-expensive dress and now he was essentially confirming exactly what she thought; that she was not, and would never be, good enough for his family. Her shoulders drooped.
“No, I didn’t mean,” he passed a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, Lila. This is hard.”
She let her face soften.
“Keep going. You’re doing well.”
“My father thinks that the partner of a Dallimore should look good and not interfere. Unless you amuse him, then you move up the pecking order.”
“And your mum? She looks good on his arm?”
Sometimes, a rewind button would be lovely. It would be excellent if those words, so easy to come out of her mouth, would just hop, skip and jump back into her big, fat gob.
But Rhys just smiled softly.
“My mother tempers him. Mostly. He likes to think that she has no influence, but she does,” he said, tipping his head forward. “Well, sometimes.”
“But not about you?”
